An Autumn Tint of Gold
by StoneandSilence
Summary: Five had just wanted to take Dolores to watch the leaves turn colors. So why is he at the academy instead, getting drunk? Set post-canon after the apocalypse has been diverted. (Re-edited because I wasn't quite happy with it the first time.) Title taken from Edgar Allen Poe's poem "Alone".
1. Chapter 1

Luther came downstairs with a baseball bat because there wasn't supposed to be anyone else in the house tonight. Allison was back in California, still trying to glue her family back together (her other family, her chosen one). Diego and Vanya had their own places and he hadn't seen either of them in a couple weeks at least. Klaus was...somewhere. God only knew. He actually saw Klaus more often than the others and his habit of dropping by unexpected and unannounced to raid the family fridge was the main reason Luther didn't run in swinging. (He'd done that once and almost taken his brother's head off.)

They were trying to be more of a family, trying to bury old hatchets and heal old wounds but paradoxically that meant not spending much time together. They'd all come to the eventual conclusion that while they did love each other, there was just too much history. Their shared experience as child soldiers under the thumb of Reginald Hargreeves the only real thing they had in common. That and the end of the world. That and watching their sister go insane. None of it anything they were eager to reminisce about over a game of charades, or whatever it was normal families did when they got together. The water under that bridge was a tsunami and if they didn't get the hell away from each other it was going to drown them all. So now it was the occasional phone call with the even more occasional visit. They'd talked about doing a family Christmas but Luther didn't know how he felt about that. Seemed like the kind of thing that was better as an idea than a reality.

There were some kinds of love that were better nurtured from a distance.

It was almost impossible to sneak around, big as he was but he tried his best, keeping up against the wall where the floorboards didn't creak and trying not to bump into the various bits of priceless junk his father had felt compelled to cram into every corner. There was a light on in the lounge and he could hear someone rummaging around, the unmistakable clink of glass on glass. Whoever it was had found the bar; either his prowler decided to pause for a nightcap or Klaus was back in town. His brother had been clean for awhile - as far as Luther knew, anyway - but old habits died hard, and he might be off the hard drugs but Luther was willing to bet he still liked a good belt now and then.

"Ah, shit," a voice said and Luther blinked in surprise, because that was a voice he recognized very well and it wasn't who he thought it would be.

"Five?"

Five had been the first to leave, muttering half-hearted excuses about the Commission still being after him and not wanting to put everyone in danger. That was probably true, but Luther thought it was only the beginning. One truth out of a dozen, the one that would hurt them all the least.

That was Five attempting to be kind.

Truth was Five had lived his entire life alone - truly alone - and when he returned he wasn't the same. He _looked_ the same (if you didn't look too close) but the brother who'd left them all those years ago had been flesh and blood. The Five who came back was...Luther didn't have the words for what Five was now. "Different" didn't even scratch the surface. "Damaged" sounded cliched (and inadequate). He reminded Luther of those horror movies he'd never been allowed to watch as a kid. The ones where the alien menace went around snatching people's bodies and replacing them with doppelgangers. Dead-eyed caricatures with empty smiles, perfect human mimics. He was still their brother but he wasn't really _Five_ anymore and he could tell as well as anyone that when his siblings looked at him, they were still seeing someone else.

So he'd left -_poof_\- just like that. At least they got a goodbye this time. Vanya and Five had some sort of private conversation beforehand that she wouldn't talk about but she assured them he'd keep in touch with her. Luther didn't know if that was true but chose to believe it anyway because he hadn't yet earned the right to question Vanya's word. But that had been six months ago and as far as Luther knew none of them had gotten so much as a postcard since. Now though-

"What are you doing here?"

Five jumped up from where he'd been crouched behind the bar, rifling through the liquor cabinet and the first thing Luther noticed was that he wasn't wearing his academy uniform. Stupid to assume he would be, there was no reason for it but it bothered Luther all the same. Probably because he'd never seen his brother wearing anything else in his life except the ill-fitting suit he fell out of the sky in, and he'd gotten rid of that soon enough. Now Five was dressed like any work-a-day Joe on the street and it made him look even younger, unsettlingly half-finished.

The second thing he noticed was that Five was upset. The third, he was drunk. A drunk, upset Five wasn't a good combination in any timeline so Luther put the bat down and took a couple steps forward. "What's wrong? What happened?" His hand twitched, that old instinct to reach out and make contact but he didn't because last time he'd done that Five nearly threw hands and he'd been perfectly sober.

That was one of those things that had changed.

"I'm looking for something to drink," Five said as if it was obvious and yeah, it was, but that didn't tell him why Five was _here_ at the academy. If he just wanted liquor he could get it, even looking like a school boy. Five had ways of getting anything he needed. Concepts like locked doors and open hours didn't mean much to someone who could warp through space on a whim.

"What happened?" Luther asked again, because it's obvious something had.

Five blinked at him owlishly and it was a testament to how off his game he was that he didn't immediately start sniping at Luther on autopilot. Just thunked a glass down on the counter and began pouring, a of bit liquor sloshing over the side. His hands were shaking.

Worry pulsed through Luther like a third heartbeat. "Five," he said, trying to summon every ounce of his minimal authority, "talk to me. What's going on?"

"What's going on," Five said, picking up the tumbler and draining it in one swallow, "is that I'm having a drink, and I don't need company." He looked at Luther then, that same superior jaunt to his shoulders but the caustic imperiousness he usually draped himself in was a bad fit tonight. Five's eyes were cigarette burns, charred and hollowed out and it worried the hell out of him.

But Luther was beginning to learn that not every problem needed to be solved by him using brute strength and sheer pigheadedness. That sometimes the gentle path was best and it was okay to delegate. The end of the world had taught him that much. Not that Five responded well to gentleness, but he wouldn't respond any better to being pressured. So Luther did exactly what he didn't want to do and backed off. "All right," he said with a complicit little nod, "just lock the cabinet back up when you're done, okay?"

He turned around to leave, made it as far as the doorway before Five shot an arrow in his back, saying "Tell Vanya I said hi," a drunken, sarcastic drawl to the words.

Luther didn't respond to the jab but he didn't let it stop him either. Of course Five knew what he was planning and of course he'll hate him for it, for dragging anyone else into it but wasn't this sort of thing what being a family was supposed to be about? And Five was a part of their wounded little family whether he wanted to admit it or not. There was a reason he'd come to the academy tonight, the one place he might call home even if he didn't want to. Luther didn't know what that reason was and didn't expect Five to tell him, but there was somebody who might.

He sighed, picked up the phone and called Vanya, fidgeting nervously as he listened to it ring through to voicemail. Damn. "Hey- hey Vanya, it's Luther. Hi. Could um- could you call me when you get in? It's kinda important. Thanks...uh, bye." He hung up and didn't mention anything about Five because that would only worry her. She knew their brother too well not to worry. (It wasn't like Five would ever just drop by for a friendly chat.)

That still left him with the small matter of said brother getting drunk in the other room. He wondered how much he'd had before he got there. Knowing Five it was probably more than was safe for a fourteen year old. For that matter it was probably more than was safe for a sixty year old too. Luther sighed again and squared his over-large shoulders in preparation for whatever vitriol was to be hurdled at him by an angry, drunk old man. Then he went back to the bar because he wasn't sure Five had considered (or even cared) that his fourteen year old body wasn't physically capable of handling the amount of alcohol he was used to pouring into it. _Somebody_ ought to keep an eye on him and well, there wasn't anyone else around.

Time to be a leader.

"She wasn't there, was she?" Five asked, words smearing like ink as they slid off his tongue. Luther noted with a twinge of alarm that Five was already almost halfway through the bottle and he'd only been gone a few minutes.

"Who?" he asked, for once just playing dumb instead of actually rising to the occasion.

Five batted the question away with a careless wave that came perilously close to upsetting the bottle. "Vanya of course. If she'd been home you'd be waiting for her in the foyer instead of sitting in here with me. But here you are, s' that means...no one else is ava-available." He gave Luther a hangman's grin that made him feel sick. "For the record, I don't want to be around me either."

"Yeah," he said, because there was no point in denying it. "Did you go by her place tonight?"

"Nope." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, down over his face and reached for the bottle again. They made contact at the same time, Five's hand locking around the bottle the instant Luther's locked around his.

"You've had enough," Luther said, knowing perfectly well he was about to start a fight. But he couldn't sit here and watch his brother drink himself to death.

Five went still, and for a moment he looked stone-cold sober. "Get your hands off me," he growled, no trace of drunken slur in the words.

"Give me the bottle," Luther challenged, and it reminded him of another time, another battle of wills._ "Put her down" "Put the gun down"_

He could feel the anger rolling off Five like heat. They locked eyes and for a moment every trace of the brother Luther knew was gone. There was nothing there but the charred husk of a man who'd lived through hell and gotten baked by the flames. In that instant Luther became all too aware he was staring into the eyes of a mass murderer. ("Assassin" seemed far too refined and civilized a word for what Luther was looking at.)

The moment passed, wall like a toll bridge coming up between them, cutting Luther off, Five's eyes flashing out warning signs like a traffic light. 'No Entry', 'Turn Back', and maybe, 'Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight'. Luther was the first to look away but he didn't take his hand off the bottle. "Whatever the problem is, this isn't the answer."

"Fine," Five sneered, lips curled back in a feral smile that reminded Luther of a wild animal caught in a trap, ready to chew off it's own leg. Then he was gone in a shimmering wave. Luther blinked in surprise because he'd honestly thought Five was too drunk to teleport.

Maybe he was. A flash behind the bar and a moment later Five dropped out, a couple feet or so higher than was convenient. His feet hit the floor but his body kept going, spilling out in an untidy puddle of limbs.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jesus-" Luther swore, leveraging his awkward body off the comically small stool in an effort at assistance but Five was already sorting himself out. Trying to anyway. There was the scuffling sound followed by a groan, a retching noise, then the unmistakable splash of sick and the accompanying stench. Luther wondered how many nights Five's spent like this, too drunk to do anything but vomit. Passed out in his own sick in a hotel room or a ditch or the end of the world. What difference did location make when you were that wasted? _'Dolores always said she hated it when I drank.'_ "Maybe Dolores had a point," Luther muttered, half to himself.

The effect on Five was instantaneous.

"What!?" He grunted, pulling himself up, half collapsing onto the bar and staring at Luther like a drowning man. "What did you jush say?"

Luther blinked, aware enough to know he'd hit a nerve of some kind but not smart enough to know which one. "I said, 'maybe Dolores was right.' I mean, you said she didn't like it when-"

Five had a hold of him in a literal flash, pulling their faces close, hands like lumps of iron in the front of his coat. It was the first time Luther'd seen him willingly draw anyone into his sphere and he wondered if Five only ever got close to people in order to kill them. Maybe that was why he was always pushing his family away. Granted, Five hadn't actually threatened murder yet but he didn't have to. His eyes were oil-black, shining with deadly intent. He looked completely insane and it unsettled something deep inside Luther. So much so that for a long moment he couldn't react.

"Do _not_. Talk. About her." Energy that had nothing to do with wormholes crackled between them.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, hands raised in supplication, all too aware of the treacherous ground in front of him and treading very carefully indeed because Five was shaking, jaw clenched like a steel trap and eyes glittering and Luther wasn't sure who his brother was actually seeing right now, and for his part Luther had no fucking clue who he was looking at either.

After a moment that lasted a heartbeat or a minute or an eternity Five let him go with a shove that did nothing at all to Luther but sent him stumbling backwards and he didn't even try to catch himself, just collapsed on the floor like a puppet with it's strings cut or some other broken thing.

Luther leaned over the bar to make sure he hadn't injured himself too badly. Five lay sprawled out on the floor, conscious but unmoving, as if that last burst of energy had taken whatever was left of him.

Luther decided he'd had just about enough of this. He got up and walked around the bar, sidestepping the puddle of sick. He'd clean it up later. It wasn't until he bent down to pull his drunken, belligerent brother to his feet that he saw it. A tear.

Five was crying.

"Oh God-" Luther breathed, concern ratcheting up a notch because Five didn't cry. Or at least, Luther had no memory of him ever having done so. He supposed he must have at some point, sometime when they were very little because all little kids cried. But their father had always met tears with cold disdain and they soon learned better. And Five...well. Five had always been a fast learner.

The errant tear rolled down the side of his face and what bothered Luther most of all was that Five didn't even try to hide it.

He didn't reach out even though he wanted to. The desire to hug his brother was like an itch in his palms but he held back, reminded himself he was dealing with a sixty year old man, not a fourteen year old boy. A sixty year old man who was an aggressive, drunk misanthrope and didn't like being touched.

But for all that, he couldn't let Five lay here behind the bar next to his own vomit either.

"Can you stand?" he asked, and Five shook his head but Luther got the feeling it didn't have anything to do with the question he'd asked. Maybe he knew what was about to happen and that's what he was denying, who knew? Luther certainly didn't. Five's mind had always worked too fast for him to keep up with. Apparently even while piss drunk.

With a grunt Luther scooped Five into his arms, expected a fight about it and worried even more when he didn't get one because Five fought about everything; it was basic survival to him. Throwing himself at the world and daring it to come for him had kept him alive and moving when he would have died otherwise and that wasn't an instinct you could just switch off. A Five that did nothing but lay placid and unresisting in Luther's arms felt wrong, threw his whole world off-kilter.

He wasn't sure what to do with a Five who wasn't being a contentious, insufferable know-it-all.

He carried his drunk brother to bed just like he had that night so many months ago when he and Diego had found him passed out in the library. But this time the bed was his own, Luther navigating stairs and hallways until he came to Five's tiny bedroom in the attic. Not for the first time he wondered why their father had assigned him this room, so removed from everyone else on the second floor. It had never occurred to him to ask. (Reginald hadn't encouraged questions that didn't pertain to things like the quickest way to snap a man's neck.) Maybe this was where Five wanted to be, maybe not. It's not like he'd had a say in it either way. None of them ever had a say in anything when they were kids. Things just _were_.

He laid Five down, smoothed the pillow under his head a bit. His brother was limp as a rag doll and showed no signs of being aware of anything but Luther knew better. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, because it didn't feel right to just leave him there. Maybe that's what Five was hoping for and it's probably what Luther would have done before, but he's trying to be better than that. A better person and a better brother. Something more than the obedient, unquestioning soldier their father had tried (and for a long time succeeded) to mold him into. Besides, last time he'd ignored a sibling when they needed help the world ended. Literally.

When it took an actual apocalypse for a man to recognize the error of his ways, it was time for some serious introspection.

Five blinked dully, looking somehow both younger and older than Luther's ever seen. There was a vulnerability to him tonight, and vulnerability looked odd on Five, hanging off him like an ill-fitting suit. His brother was hurting and Luther wanted to help, so he crushed down a spur of irritation at the silence and tried again. "Would you just tell me what's going on? Maybe I can help."

Nothing. Five wouldn't even look at him. "You're the one that came here tonight," Luther reminded him, words growing warm with his rising frustration. "You didn't have to. You can go anywhere in this city, get behind any locked door. I know you, Five. If you just wanted to drink you would have stolen some alcohol and found an empty hotel room. But you didn't. So how about you level with me and tell me _what happened_?"

To his mild horror, another tear gathered at the corner of his brother's eye. Five breathed in, exhaled on a whisper, "Dolores."

Luther leaned forward, head cocked to the side. "What?"

"Dolores."

Oh. Answers, finally. Sort of. "What happened to Dolores?"

"...she's gone."


	3. Chapter 3

Luther wasn't a fast thinker (he can admit that about himself) so it took him a bit. Last he understood of the situation Five had gotten rid of Dolores, though he supposes "gotten rid of" was a harsh way to put it; Five certainly wouldn't see it that way. But whatever language used she was _already_ gone, had been for months and Luther could only see it as a good thing; Five finally letting go. Moving on from the apocalyptic obsession that had driven him almost his whole life.

But of course it wasn't that easy. You couldn't shrug off forty years like shedding a backpack. Luther had his own issues he was sorting out, it was hard enough and none of those included growing up in a lifeless wasteland or becoming history's most influential murderer. "What do you mean, gone?"

Five closed his eyes, dislodging another tear. "I went to see her."

"And?" he prompted gently, trying to awkwardly tightrope between pushing too hard and not hard enough. He really, really was not the right person for this. Vanya, Allison, even Klaus would be better suited for the task but as Five had so astutely pointed out, there was no one else around. Just Luther. Just his big, dumb self with his oversized body and undersized brain. Luther with his issues and his shortcomings and his mess, all alone in a big empty house, just like his old man.

But not _just_ like the old man, surely. Not exactly him, because Five was here. He hadn't gone to Vanya, or Allison or Klaus. _He came home,_ Luther reminded himself. That meant something, even if Luther didn't know what. It had to. (If nothing else, it meant he wasn't as much like Reginald Hargreeves as he feared.)

"She was gone."

Luther's face shuffled around in confusion. "You...left her somewhere?"

There was a ghost of Five's old self in look he gave Luther, the one that told him he was being a slow, stupid pain in the ass but he couldn't scrape together the will to bring it over the line and make it really effective. "I took her back to Gimbal's. It's her home...'s where she belongs."

'Home'. That word again; that concept. He wondered if Five knew where _he_ belonged. He didn't ask, having just enough sense to keep his mouth shut now he'd gotten his brother talking.

"She-" Five stopped, swallowing, pain on his face like an open wound and Luther had to crush his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for him. "-they threw her out."

"Oh-" Luther said, proverbial light bulb switching on at last and stupid, _stupid_ he should say more, needed to say more because Dolores hadn't meant anything to him but she'd meant something to Five. Luther didn't understand it and never would (he couldn't, not without going through the same hell Five had) but he ought to be able to offer his brother _something_. Some words of comfort or wisdom. "Jesus, I-I'm sorry."

He truly was. Five had...well, in a very real sense he'd saved the world. He hadn't done it alone but he'd been the nucleus, the spark that had ignited The Umbrella Academy to join together and work as a team one last time. None of that would have happened without Five there to alert them to the danger, to bitch at them until they pulled their heads out of their asses long enough to function as a unit. To advocate for Vanya's rehabilitation.

But it was more than that, because he'd saved them, too; helped salvage their broken little family from the smoking ruins of their childhood, proved they could be more to each other than casual strangers and grudging acquaintances. And maybe it wasn't much; they'd never have family barbecues in the backyard or pose for birthday pictures while gathered smiling around a cake. That had never been their destiny. But what they had now was more than they'd had before. And it meant so much.

After all that, surely his brother deserved a modicum of peace and happiness.

"If she's in a landfill somewhere, maybe we can-" but Five cut him off.

"She's already been recycled." It didn't occur to Luther to question how Five knew. Five knew because he'd looked for her.

He tried again, though he doubted there was any solution he could offer his brother hadn't already thought of. "But you can time travel, right? Maybe go back, stop them from-"

Five shook his head. "The timeline's too unstable. They got rid of her the day I brought her back; that was before the apocalypse, before the changes we made to the timeline. Any alteration in events could trigger another cataclysm."

And finally, belatedly perhaps, Luther understood. To keep the world safe Five had to sacrifice Dolores; he'd never be able to bring her back. And he was the one who'd left her to die, so to speak. At least, that's the way he'd see it.

"I just-it's autumn. And Dolores, she always liked watching the leaves turn colors." Luther kept his mouth shut and didn't ask how often they'd gotten that opportunity during the apocalypse. "I thought...just one more night, you know? For old time's sake."

Luther had never felt more useless. Not even after discovering his trip to the moon had been a four year long practical joke. There was nothing to say, nothing to do, no way to make it better. Five rolled away from him to face the wall and Luther knew the conversation was over. He wouldn't get another word out of Five for the rest of the night. Maybe not for the rest of the year. Five would sleep off his drunken stupor and vanish, and that would be the end of it.

He didn't leave. He thought about everything Five had said (and the good deal more he hadn't) then finally reached over and touched his shoulder, those clumsy, thick-fingered hands as gentle as he could make them.

Predictably Five shrugged him off. "I want to be alone."

"No you don't," Luther said, uncertain about a lot of things but not about that. "You came here tonight, Five. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"People do all sorts of stupid things when they're drunk."

"Maybe," he concedes, "But even the stupid things have a reason behind them." His therapist had told him that. (He'd been going for about four months now, on Vanya's recommendation. He wasn't sure how much it was helping but he kept at it. He owed her that much at the very least.)

Five scoffed derisively, "Save psychology hour for your shrink, Luther." and that made him think that maybe Five really had been keeping in touch with their sister. He didn't let the jab get to him. Five wielded conversation like a weapon and he was far more skilled at that form of combat than himself, always had been; Luther was long used to it. Right now Five was angry and hurting, and it was natural for wild things to attack when they were in pain.

"What happened to Dolores wasn't your fault," he said quietly.

Five went ridged, stiff as a plank. "Shut up!" he snapped, an undercurrent of violence in his tone.

Luther didn't listen. He pushed instead. "You did the right thing, taking her back."

"Luther-" Five warned, voice strained.

"You need to let go." He knew what was about to happen and it wasn't anything he wanted, but maybe it was what Five needed.

Maybe that's why he'd come home tonight.

Two seconds after the words left his mouth Five's fist collided with his lip. Luther'd seen it coming a mile away and then some but took the hit, head turning to the side more on instinct than due to any kinetic force. His brother was dangerous but not because of his fists. Not to him anyway.

Surprisingly, Five stopped after the first punch, showing more restraint than he'd expected. "You say another damn word, I'll punch your teeth in," he threatened, and Luther was pretty sure he meant it.

"It wasn't your fault," he insisted, "It was for the best."

Five stared at him for a moment in furious incredulity, an almost helpless rage. Then he threw himself at his brother in a hurricane of blood and fists.

Luther couldn't do much. He didn't have Vanya's bond with Five. Didn't have Allison's patience, or Klaus' compassion, or even Diego's insight. But he had this. This big dumb ape body that could absorb the kind of blows that would have flattened his siblings and the stamina to weather Five's admittedly impressive emotional firestorm. He could give his brother the chance to make his pain kinetic, transfer it, let it go. And that might be all he was good for but maybe it was enough, tonight.

Maybe just once he could be enough for somebody.

He let Five beat on him as long as wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't seem to occur to Five that Luther wasn't fighting back, no more so than necessary to block the most damaging blows and keep his organs safe. Luther deflected hit after hit, forty plus years of frustration and anger, sorrow and hopelessness. It had stopped being about Dolores a long time ago.

At some point his arm started going numb.

Fortunately for him by the time it really began to hurt Five was at the edge of his strength, blows softening to open handed swats as his anger bled away and dissipated. They were on the floor by then, Luther pushed up against the wall with Five half on top of him, fists like hail stones on his head, his arms, his chest. Five's face was a child's watercolor, blurred and indistinct, messy with color.

For his part Luther had a fat lip, a ringing ear and his left eye was swelling shut. At some point he'd cut the inside of his cheek on his own teeth and his mouth was filled with the gun-metal taste of blood. He'd be sore in the morning but that was all right, that was fine. Small price for the maybe-peace he might bring his brother and probably less than he deserved anyway. (He wasn't a natural martyr but he had plenty to answer for, and this was as fitting a method of karmic balance as any.)

Five finally collapsed against his chest, crying, really crying for what Luther guessed was the first time in years. He took a chance and wrapped an arm around him, was rewarded when it wasn't immediately thrown off. Five stiffened but that was all, finally giving in, actually letting his brother hug him. Luther didn't know if it was bringing him any comfort but it was tolerated and that was the best one could hope for. He filed the moment away for later reflection, something to consider once his brother went back to being his charming, acerbic self.

He thought he should say something, offer some bit of wisdom or advice like they did at the end of every Hallmark movie but he didn't have any truths to offer. Dolores was gone. She was gone and his brother was heartbroken. (He's certain Five would protest such maudlin descriptions being applied to himself, but a spade was a spade.) And maybe Five's heart had broken long before this, but tonight he was actually _feeling_ it.

And Luther had no words.

For all that, it was not an uncomfortable silence. Five wept bitterly, quietly, shoulders shaking and Luther held on for as long as he was permitted, the air around them filled with things unspoken yet implicitly understood. Luther knew Five was sorry even though he would probably never receive a formal apology. Five knew apologies weren't necessary. Luther knew he would never tell a soul about what happened tonight, and Five knew he didn't need to threaten his brother to assure his silence. They both knew Five would be gone in the morning. Neither of them would bother with goodbye.

When exhaustion exacted its price and Five finally fell asleep on him, Luther once again put his brother to bed, turning down sheets and removing shoes, those small domestic touches that made him feel oddly self-conscious but seemed nonetheless vital. Five's knuckles were split and bleeding from repeatedly meeting Luther's teeth but there wasn't much to be done about that. Luther folded his hands into the blanket, drew the covers up and actually tucked him in, partly because it felt necessary, partly because he knew it would annoy his brother to no end. (It felt like he was getting away with something, and perhaps he was.)

That done he stroked his brother's hair, a feather-light touch against his scalp. Then he left him to sleep (perchance to dream), turned out the light and made his way downstairs to clean up the mess in the lounge.

That night he spent a long time sitting on the front steps with an ice pack pressed against his cheek, letting the crisp September air sooth his swollen flesh. Five was right; fall was here and the leaves were painted in crimson and fire. The world was soft tonight and Luther looked around in weary peace, velvet sky overhead and the gentle glow of the streetlamps bathing everything in an autumn tint of gold.


End file.
